


Out of the Dungeon

by gloss



Series: Crown’d with you [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Cock Piercing, D/s undertones, Finn inna dress, M/M, Reunion Sex, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, radical democratic eroticism, shameless otp schmoop, unrealistic use of cock piercings in sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "Is the royal suite appointed with, uh --" Poe frowns, trying to think of the right terms. "You know. Aristocratic lubrication and whatnot?""Not that I'm aware of," Finn says, snorting a little."Private-stock liniment? Marital aids by order of his celestial grace?"Deposed Prince Finn and victorious partisan Poe get reacquainted.(A sequel or alternative ending to Spy in the House of Love, but it's not necessary to have read that to get this porn, I promise.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hegemony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/gifts).



> For L: this was supposed to be like that straightforward D/s-y roleplay coda we talked about but it went askew, and I hope that's okay.
> 
> Basically, in the spirit of Deputy's Brexit Consolation Porn, this is US Hellscape Consolation Porn.

They walk back from the dungeons -- all the cells are now unlocked and empty -- hand in hand. They take their time, ambling through the uproar throughout the palace. Civil servants rush wildly, clutching datapads and ancient scrolls and miscellaneous office supplies. Former Ghost guards slump dejectedly together, their uniforms wrinkled and open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, as they share flasks. Droids spin in circles, crooning out sad beeps. 

From outside the walls, the sounds of celebration grow louder. The celebrants must have made it into the compound by now, actually.

Eventually, they make it back to the old royal suite. The paintings and holovids that had decorated the passages are gone. The suite itself seems relatively untouched, but it smells a little stale, like no one's been here for a while.

Poe knows Finn -- he _does_ , still, despite everything -- so he can see quite clearly how Finn has spent the last several days. As the rebellion drew closer to the city, Finn was awake, pacing the situation room. If he did come back here, it was only to sleep, face down, for an hour or two before getting back to work.

"There should be enough hot water," Finn tells Poe, shooing him toward the suite's fresher. 

Poe doesn't want to drop Finn's hand. Then again, he hasn't had a real clean in months. He squeezes hard before breaking the hold. Before he can get inside, however, Finn tugs him back. He grins, looks away then right back, and says, "Don't shave, though?"

Poe looks like a wild thing, his hair gone to seed and standing out in every direction. He's a stranger, somehow, as well as deeply familiar: Finn's first, best friend, quivering from the very start with exhilaration and infectious confidence.

Poe scratches at his beard and shrugs. "Yeah, all right."

"Indulge me?" Finn says as he turns away.

Poe sounds amused, at least. "One last privilege, that kind of thing?"

"Sure, let's go with that." Finn picks up a dead datapad and turns it over, then sets it back down. When he turns around, Poe has stepped into the fresher. The outline of his body is blurred by the screen, but Finn can make out just fine the tilt to Poe's shoulders, how much he narrows through his torso. He's lost weight since he's been away, gone ropy and taut; his eyes are bigger than ever in his sharpened face.

Finn has studied himself, in mirrors and in holos, searching for similar changes. Either he has not changed at all -- unlikely -- or he did not know himself very well to begin with. Maybe he had always relied on Poe, on how he looked at Finn, spoke to him, treated him (kissed him), to be that for him, a register of changes and continuity, more sensitive than he himself could be.

When he lost Poe, he lost his ground.

Naked, Poe steps out of the fresher, scrubbing at his hair, then under his arms, to find Finn dressed again in royal robes. They are far more somber now, black ovals embroidered over stormy charcoal.

"Back in the dress, huh?"

"A few more ceremonies," Finn says. "Then it's back to trousers and jerseys."

"Huh," Poe says. These robes are more closely cut, shaped to fit Finn, than the previous ones. "You look nice, though."

"I look like an autocrat and oppressor, wouldn't you say?"

"Sure, but a really _hot_ one," Poe says, bouncing backward onto the wide bed, tossing aside the towel. He sprawls there, one leg up, the dark hair curling down his shin, and wiggles his toes. He props himself up on his elbows, looking Finn over all the more directly. Dark and water-spangled, his cock curves over his thigh.

"Kind of you," Finn murmurs as he sinks down on the edge of the bed. He touches Poe's leg with light fingers. "Poe, I --"

"Don't say it," Poe says, sitting up to crowd himself against Finn's side. "Shit, I'm getting you wet, sorry."

"It's all right." Finn grasps Poe's leg harder, tugs him that much closer. "I don't really care about the dress."

"Yeah?" Poe kisses the side of Finn's neck, "what about the piercings? Going to keep those?"

Finn ducks his head and takes a quick breath; Poe's mouth slides up over his ear. "Yeah, those are cool. They can stay."

"Best news all day," Poe says, hugging him now, pulling Finn down on his side. 

"Better than overthrowing the government? Than getting sprung from jail?"

"Much better," Poe says. "It gets hard out there, you know. In the dark of the night, the heart of the forest, a guy can lose track of what he's fighting for. He needs something, some reason, to keep going."

"You don't say."

Poe nods and looks smug. "I do say."

"So it was, what? The ring through the dick of the guy you were aiming to depose, that's what got you through?"

Scowling a little, Poe swallows. "Not just the ring. The dick of that guy, too. Really, his whole...body. Him. _You_."

By the time he finishes, Poe has rolled over to his side to face Finn. Head propped on his folded arm, he exhales slowly. "This sucks, doesn't it?"

"No, why would you say that?" Finn peers up at the ceiling. Outside the palace, fireworks and booming music thunder and compete. "You disappeared for nearly a year to destroy everything I thought I was working for, what I stood for, who I was supposed to be --"

"Well, yeah," Poe says, sitting up now. "That was kind of the whole point."

Finn's smile tilts sharply. "Is that a confession?"

"Definitely. What's my punishment going to be?"

The moment catches and hangs between them, around them. The connotations and implications begin to spread, then swarm, going sticky and hot and _fast_.

"Hmm?" Poe asks, leaning forward, braced on one hand. "Your mightiness? Son of the surf, heart of starshine?"

Finn blinks rapidly. "Poe, come on --"

"I confess. To, I don't know, sedition? Does that sound right?" Poe shakes out his damp hair. "I throw myself on your glorious mercy and legendary gentleness."

Poe never took any of this seriously. He's mocking all of it now, too, but Finn senses a difference. He watches Poe's eyes tighten and dart anxiously, sees his knuckles standing out where he's gripping the quilt, hears his voice gulp and grow hoarser.

"I only ever want what is best for this world," Finn tells him and rises to his feet. He shrugs off the outermost layer of his robe; it puddles with a sigh behind him. "Everything I am is coextensive with this place. Everything is mine; I am theirs."

Poe nods quickly. When he moves to stand, too, Finn shakes his head. Poe drops back down.

Spreading his arms, Finn gazes down at Poe. Poe looks back up, meeting his eyes, though he knows that, strictly speaking, he should lower his gaze. Maybe kiss his feet?

There are limits to how far he can go, even were he willing.

Finn caresses Poe's cheek. "I think you need a reminder."

"Do I?"

He tugs on Poe's beard, lightly enough not to hurt, but hard enough to tip Poe's head back. "You do."

Poe looks up at him, licks the corner of his mouth, trying not to smirk.

"You wanted to wreck everything of mine." Finn sounds like he did in those propaganda holos, rueful and deep-voiced, burdened by responsibility ordinary mortal sentients simply couldn't understand. "How about I wreck you?"

"Give it to me," Poe says softly. He can't blink or look away or do much more than curl his fingers into the bed linens and _yearn_. To tip forward, to close the rest of the distance, to get Finn back against him, warm, solid, and unmistakably real.

"I will." Finn pushes his fingers into Poe's hair, twisting them into the damp curls. His nails score Poe's scalp. He tugs again, pulling Poe up to his feet, and kisses him deep and hard.

Poe's hands bump his sides and he finds himself folding them behind his back. He senses he shouldn't touch Finn, not yet, not until he's invited to. 

He ought to hate this. This is everything that's old, stupid, and cruel in the world, power attached to one body and denied everyone else for arbitrary, terrible reasons.

Even when that body is Finn's, he can't abide this.

And yet here he is, pushing closer, plastering himself as close as he can. Not because he agrees -- though, it seems, if its reaction is anything to go by, his dick has an unexpected monarchist streak and welcomes the prospect of being ordered around -- but because Finn's holding him, pulling his hair to move his head around, kissing the air out of his lungs.

"Remember this," Finn tells him, then bites Poe's ear and lets him drop. His hands lower onto Poe's shoulders and squeeze. "All of this? Mine."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Poe looks up through his eyelashes as Finn strokes his thumbs through the beard. "Yes, yours."

The smile Finn gives him takes its time spreading, brightening, becoming something genuine and, for all its delight and beauty, serious. He runs the pads of both thumbs over Poe's jaw and then his lips.

"Yours," Finn replies, or echoes, or confirms. All of those, and more. He nudges his thumbs into Poe's mouth, over his teeth, against his tongue. Poe sucks at them with abandon, lets himself be every bit as messy and hungry as he feels; now isn't the time for care or caution. He nips down a few times, keeps Finn smiling at him like he's discovered gold.

"Your most revered and excellent highness," Poe says when Finn pops his thumbs back out and slips his hands back down Poe's throat. "How can I show my gratitude?"

Chuckling a little, shaking his head, Finn sinks down to his knees, hands going to Poe's waist, pulling him to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to fuck you, partisan. I'm going to make sure you never forget whose you are."

Grunting, unable to hold back the noise, Poe arches his back and gets his legs around Finn, pulling him right up against the edge of the bed.

"Yours," he finally says as he succeeds in getting Finn to tilt forward. He drives one knee on the bed between Poe's legs and lands on his palms just on either side of Poe's waist. "Yours."

"Mine," Finn says a little faintly, wonderingly. His eyes move over Poe, as if he's reading and memorizing, discovering and surrendering, all at the same time.

The game has clear rules. It's a distillation of reality, simplified to the point of ritual, not to say absurdity. Maybe that's what they both need now, that clarity that says better than they can themselves what they believe and what they need.

"Is this the punishment?" Poe asks, spreading his legs as far apart as he can. "Or mercy?"

Finn bites the inside of one thigh, then the other, before pressing his face against Poe's balls, his crack. He breathes out, and in, lets his tongue poke and explore, waits until Poe is rippling beneath him, lifting and spreading and gasping, before he looks up and says, honestly, "A little of both, I think."

"Fair," Poe replies, shuddering when Finn closes his lips around his balls and sucks. "Fuck me, more than fair!"

Finn works his mouth all over Poe, soaking him with spit, suckling up bruises on delicate skin that will stay tender for hours, even days, afterward. He licks Poe open with long, swirling strokes and darting thrusts, keeps at it until Poe is shaking and cursing, pushing himself down and open onto Finn's face.

He wants it all, right now, everything: he wants to flip Poe ever and drive deep inside him, fuck him long and hard until neither of them has the voice to do much more than growl. He wants to pull Poe atop him, let him ride Finn's cock until he comes, and then hold him there, for hours, while bruises blossom under Finn's fingers, keeping himself buried to the hilt. And he wants to do this slowly, smoothly, face to face with kissing and hair-stroking and those hoarse whispered jokes that Poe specializes in.

He wants to chain him back up in the dungeons, arms and legs spread, face to the wall, and fuck him dry until Poe's apology, his honor and flattery, are sincere. Until he _understands_.

He wants out of here, he wants back in time, he wants never to have been _this_.

Finn pushes Poe up the bed and kneels there, hands on Poe's thighs, looking him over. 

"You need to trust me," Finn says as Poe's hips buck and his cock spits out more precome. 

"I do, I really do --"

"Poe," he says more firmly, loudly. "You need to trust me."

Poe's face contorts, beyond a scowl, and he turns, scrubbing it against his shoulder. "I do."

"I need you to."

Poe pushes up a little ways. "I do. I'm sorry. I --"

"Don't apologize," Finn says and folds one of Poe's legs up against his chest. "I don't want your apology, I want --. I want _you_."

"You've got me," Poe says, holding his leg in place, offering himself, gleaming hole and wet hair, dark stripe of his crack and heavy weight of his sac. His cock is straining, quivering, while his chest heaves. "Please."

"Yeah," Finn says and swipes his forearm across his face, attacking both the sweat and the tears that threaten. He composes himself and runs two fingers down Poe's crack to circle his hole. "You're --"

"Finn. Your highness. O mighty son of the blood --"

"Don't," Finn says, flat and final. "Please, I just --"

Poe's gaze softens. "Do it, buddy. Fuck me. I want you --"

Finn smiles again, a little wobbly, but brighter than anyone else's can manage at full strength. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Poe manages, awkwardly, to sit up, getting his arms around Finn's neck, kissing his throat, the bumps of his clavicle. "I missed you. I missed you so much, I wasn't kidding about getting through --"

"About the cockring?"

"And who it's attached to, yes," Poe says, pulling Finn up over him, wrapping one leg around his waist. The fabric of his gown is soft like fog, easily snagged on Poe's calluses and scabs. Finn doesn't seem to mind. 

Finn wiggles a little so he can tug the dress up to his waist; as soon as it's possible, Poe's grinning at him, reaching between his legs and stroking him hard, twisting his grip and flicking at the ring with his thumb.

"Is the royal suite appointed with, uh --" Poe frowns, trying to think of the right terms. "You know. Aristocratic lubrication and whatnot?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Finn says, snorting a little.

"Private-stock liniment? Marital aids by order of his celestial grace?"

Finn's chuckling. "That's why it's good I brought my own." He rolls over and reaches under the bed, drawing out a standard Resistance-issue lockbox that Poe has never seen before. 

"You had this the whole time." He doesn't want to think about how they could have been having so much sex, if --.

"I had this the whole time," Finn replies, punching in the combination and popping the lid. "Fairly the certain the Ghost guard opened this, probably bugged it, but at this point, who cares? They learned I was basically celibate, big deal."

"Finn," Poe starts to say, but he stops when Finn looks up, his eyes shining.

"Sometimes I take...a while, to figure out where I am, where I'm going," he says, softly, even as he's slicking up his hand and nudging Poe onto his back again. "I'm not like you, I'm never going to be able to think like that, in split seconds and anticipation."

"Believe me, that approach's overrated," Poe tells him, arching up to meet him, his mouth opening on a gusty sigh as Finn works two fingers inside him. "Fu-u-uck."

"That's good," Finn says, breath whistling, as he twists his hand. Poe's expression opens even as he bears down and takes Finn deeper. "That's so good, you're --"

"More," Poe says. "I mean, please?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay --" Finn adds a third finger, more slowly than Poe's ready to tolerate, so slowly that it's dragging sensation all the way up Poe's chest to his windpipe, down his legs to his toes, and he's moaning for it, past language, working himself onto Finn and grasping him so tightly that Finn has to fight to spread his fingers.

When he does, Poe's moan shatters, his hips canting high, his hole fluttering and squeezing arhythmically.

"Yours," he says as Finn rubs the head of his cock down Poe's crack to meet his palm. It pushes in as the fingers withdraw. Poe's split open so far that he gasps and rocks to meet Finn; his lip caught in his teeth, his eyes gone wide and round, bright whites in his bearded, dark-flushed face. When Finn works the ring a few times against Poe, Poe arches higher, pulling both knees almost to his shoulders, radically folding himself, then offering the result.

"Yours," Finn says, slowly, as carefully as he can as he pushes inside. The crush on his hand didn't, couldn't, prepare him for this, the heat and slick-plush power, pulling him in as Poe tilts and shifts and does everything he can to suck all of Finn deeper inside and keep him there.

"Yeah," Poe says and rocks back, then up. Finn breaks his stillness, shoves forward and tears himself back, makes Poe shout and reach for him, hands clutching at empty air.

The ring is snug on Finn, wrenching more pleasure through him on every stroke, scoring sensation inside Poe, making him contort and twist for more. It pulls them both over the edge, then farther out, spinning them high and taut until they are, together, little more than sheets of neurons and guttering moans, arcing sweat and dry, cracking lips.

Finn curls one arm around, over, Poe's head, clamps them together, kissing him fervently, while Poe seeks to unhinge his hips, his arms, every joint he has. He clings to Finn, fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to stay, here, with him.

When the kiss breaks, when Finn cries out and buries his face in Poe's neck, when his cock starts to shudder and quake, Poe bites at his neck, then his earlobe, and whispers, "Come, your majesty, inside me," and Finn laughs, helplessly, as he shoots and shakes and shoots again.

Poe starts to come half a moment later, pulling a little away so he can *see* Finn, watch his face and say his name. He drives his heel back into the bed, twisting at the waist and jacking himself, savoring the fullness and scrape of Finn inside.

"Fuck," Finn gasps and laughs again, " _Poe_."

"Shit, I should've asked permission --" Poe runs his palm, sticky with come, up Finn's side, over his shoulder, to cup his cheek. "Please, my liege, may I?"

Finn turns, pressing his mouth against Poe's hand, licking it clean. When he's finished, he says quietly, "Do you take anything seriously?"

"I do," Poe says as he clenches on Finn's softening cock. "I promise, I really do."

"Yeah, I know." Finn lowers himself until he's blanketing Poe, stroking his hair and nuzzling his throat. "You do."

"Yours," Poe says, like an oath, and Finn nods, says it back to him, directly into his skin, against his pulse.

It grows dark outside, but the sky hosts fireworks, immense blooms of white fire, spinning red wheels, starbursts close at hand. In a little while, they stumble out to the veranda, heavy-footed and sleepy, sore and beaming, to watch the show.

"What about those ceremonies of yours?" Poe asks, leaning on the railing, eyes tracking a silver rocket as it ascends, then bursts at the apex of its climb. It lights his face, makes everything monochrome, either white or black.

"Eh," Finn replies, looping his arm around Poe's waist, looking now at the dancing crowds filling the grounds. "I'm not that man anymore."

Poe sways against him, knocking their hips together. "Liberation, it's a tricky thing."

Grinning, Finn hauls Poe closer and kisses him, burying his nose and mouth in the beard. "Yeah."

"Learned that from you, you know," Poe murmurs. After a moment of holding himself still, Finn nods and exhales.

"Call it mutual," he whispers and the words nearly disappear in the light of another burst and the fervor of their kiss.


End file.
